Lover and Beloved
by Laryna6
Summary: He lies willingly between heaven and hell, tormented by a legion of mad spirits and blessed by his loving god.


_For qdeanna – inspired by her work._

* * *

He knelt on the bed, one knee and the other. First with an eagerness that transformed into reverent slowness as he bowed his head. Master's hand reached out from where he sat back against the pillows to touch his Franken's shoulder, and Frankenstein already felt his eyes growing half-lidded.

Master held his hand out for him to take, and he pressed his lips to each of those delicate fingers, savoring every second of it. His body was already anticipating the moment he took those fingertips into his mouth, but there was no rush, no rush at all. Like this, he could believe he would have all the time in the world to spend with his precious Master. That the world outside would wait, that everything would be alright.

He could name every chemical that flowed through his blood and lit sparks in his mind, both the names known to modern science and the terms he'd invented for himself, long ago. Hyper-efficient organs sieved cortisol from his blood as his spirit calmed; the endorphins that rewarded a long run and made the tiredness itself a pleasure were what drugs strove to echo.

Everything was worth it. Everything, because he found himself here.

'Religion was the opiate of the masses?' Yes, true.

His god took his pain away.

Not with his powers, even though he could. His mind control would have let him dominate Frankenstein even before he gave the Noblesse his blood, throwing open the doors of his mind to the one who conquered it unknowingly.

"Master," he murmured, finally nibbling gently on a fingertip, his lips soft and his strength absent. Not because Master unmanned him, but because he gave him the strength to be soft like this. When for so many decades it had hurt too much for him to dare show, to feel, any emotions but anger and contempt.

He promised with tongue and teeth never to hurt his master, even though his brain knew that the world didn't bend to his will. It was the truth of his soul, mirrored in his body. The pledge made with his blood.

Love was supposed to be a great passion that drove men to slay monsters, but his love was no less real for how it gentled him now, his barbed tongue caressing instead of cutting. He pressed a kiss to his Master's palm, and looked up to meet red eyes that matched the shade beginning to bloom on Master's cheeks, deepening as Frankenstein sent his love and not mere gratitude, but the joy he felt that Master was kind enough to give him this.

He pressed his cheek to that hand, closing his eyes, proving his trust with how willing he was to be vulnerable here. Those precious fingers curled, tugging him closer now. He came willingly, letting himself be guided to lean against the same mass of pillows as Master. Obediently he snuggled into it, letting his eyes close and his mind slow.

Those precious fingertips stroked his cheek, already dry so he didn't have to feel guilty for dirtying Master. He knew that nothing Master did was to make him grateful but oh, _oh_ … He shook with the force of his love, and he felt water in his eyes, so helpless was he in the face of it. With his love's face, so beautiful and serene, so close to his own. He thought of the image they must make, golden and black heads together on the pillows, curling towards one another. His Master watching him like he was precious, burning with the noble will to protect and grateful to him for it, even knowing that Frankenstein did not want his gratitude, only his happiness.

Master wiped the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief, so the pillows didn't get wet, and he had to take that hand, press another kiss to that palm. He didn't need Master here with him, truly he didn't. Not in the flesh: when were they _not_ touching, soul to soul…

He let out a slow breath, and another, drifting into sleep with his heart still singing with joy.

His Master did not have to do this, he knew as the nightmare began, and it made him smile as the dark hands enveloped him.

Frankenstein wouldn't let Master spend his precious life to calm Dark Spear's rage, not when it was Frankenstein's duty, not his. He was the one who'd failed to save them.

Endorphins were natural painkillers. He could ignore Dark Spear's words of hatred (almost…) when he felt so loved…

It still hurt when his crazed lover took him. It _had_ to: hurting him let them feel that bit better, stopped them lashing out at themselves for lack of anything else they could do, and then lashing out _again_ as their torment increased. He couldn't take away the pain of being trapped in a hell human minds were never meant for (if only he could), but at least he could dull it. Give them the pleasure of hurting him to distract them from their agony.

Of course Dark Spear would never be grateful to him for it, and he would worry for them if they were, that they were starting to think that what was done to them was in any way acceptable or deserved. Frankenstein was just glad that there was _something_ he could do for them without jeopardizing their vengeance. Without running the risk that the Union might recover them, or survive to make another.

Dark Spear didn't even mind that he felt less pain like this, because Frankenstein was so used to hiding his weaknesses. Had too much practice not letting the enemy know they'd hurt him. Soothed by Master's presence, by the proof that someone cared for him, his mind relaxed its iron control, was willing to let slip unfiltered reactions to what he experienced.

Like screams.

Master must have sensed that Dark Spear was restless tonight. Frankenstein needed some sleep, so he did shield his dreaming mind even though Dark Spear couldn't absorb him in this state, but if Dark Spear was lashing out strongly enough he wanted to calm their rage. Master hadn't spent his precious life to shield Frankenstein, or even ordered Frankenstein to shield himself. He understood about duty, about Frankenstein's need to do what he could for these poor souls. Even if it was hard to remember that they were victims when they…

No. It didn't matter. They were mad, and it was because of what was done to them. The hell they'd been trapped in for centuries because he wasn't stupid enough to take on the Union's clan leaders without backup. Without someone to guard him while he slept, at the very least.

When he woke, gasping for the breath his dream denied him, he knew his Master was there before his eyes flew open. It didn't only feel so good because the pain had stopped. He suppressed a smile of triumph: once again he'd survived hell to reach his heaven. His Messiah, his king and his god. The god who did not forgive him, because in those red eyes there was nothing to forgive.

Well. No. That was hyperbole. Frankenstein _tried_ not to do anything that distressed his Master, but at this point it was deeply ingrained habit to… provoke anyone with power – even the children could do with practice not lashing out in irritation, because they were surrounded by people weaker than them – and while he would never do that to _Master,_ of course, Master worried about the children's feelings.

"Forgive me, Master," he murmured, daring to reach out to smooth perfect raven hair that didn't need it, glad that Master permitted his touch.

He felt Master's small shake of his head through the pillow, the clean sound of soft silk, even if there was none finer than his Master's hair.

His lover was mad and cruel, but his beloved was so sweet and kind…

He couldn't help but seize his Master's hand and kiss it, kiss the ring that was his lover's gift to keep his beloved alive. No, not a gift, he'd seized it from them, bought it in blood and pain and time at their mercy. He'd seen the sadness in his beloved's eyes when he realized that Frankenstein was wounded for his sake, but he'd barely felt the wounds. How could he mind them, when Raizel might live even an instant longer?

He felt the warmth of his beloved's hand on the skin of his lips, his lover's darkness crackling under his skin. He lay on the knife-edge between bliss that made him melt and stiffening in agony and felt _alive_.

Master sighed to see the smirk on Frankenstein's lips, but it just made him smile against his Master's hand to see his Master relax, reassured that Frankenstein was back to normal after Dark Spear took him in the night.

Opening the bond, he sent Master all his love, and how could he feel anything but utter delight to see living color on those cheeks?

More.

Tea. Yes, Master would like tea, sweet for his sweet one, and more shirts to contemplate, so difficult for his poor Master to choose when there was love in every stitch and Frankenstein's love was so precious to him and he would do _anything_ for his precious Master. _Anything_.

Anything for his everything.


End file.
